Castling
by mirai3k
Summary: They call her an urban legend, all fire and unearthly power, something to be feared and admired. Totsuka and Izumo tried to tell her this once, broke out into laughter and got smoke blown into their faces for their trouble. It feels like more of a joke now than ever before. (HOMRA genderswap AU. Various characters/relationships)
1. dress, dress me down

**Notes: **A series of loosely connected missing scenes that can work within the canon timeline. This was supposed to be mindless self-indulgence to sort out certain characters and relationship dynamics with bonus genderswap versions of the key players in HOMRA. It became that and more and is now a bit experimental. While it was started before the finale, it will probably also be doubling as a fixit/retelling in light of the ending.

Also, this series doesn't have straightforward A/B pairings or an "endgame" relationship in mind. Rather, a number of different kinds of relationships will likely be featured: platonic, romantic, sexual, polyamorous, among others, and may see overlap. These include but are not limited to: Mikoto/Izumo, Mikoto/Reisi, Izumo/Seri, Mikoto/Izumo/Tatara, Misaki/Saruhiko. Please see individual parts (chapters) for characters, relationships, ratings and content warnings. Mentions of past character death in this part.

* * *

_Dynasties repaired —_  
_Systems — settled in their Sockets —_  
_Citadels — dissolved_

(Emily Dickinson, "All but Death, can be Adjusted")

x

"If there's anything I can do," is what the Blue King chooses to open with. He's completely out of his element and out of his domain, standing in an alley in Shizume by the Red headquarters. He might have deceived himself into thinking otherwise but he looks it too. Mikoto would tell him as much but considering she's the reason he's here tonight, it wouldn't really have the same effect.

"There is actually," she says. "You can stay out of my way and it would be easier for both your guys and mine."

He smiles like he's expected this; she wants to knock it off his face. "Fine, but the moment you start causing trouble, I can't promise anything."

Her eyes find a streetlight at a point in the distance over his shoulder. "Yeah, well." She taps an erratic beat against the brick of the wall shouldering her weight and the light flickers in time, on and off, on and off. "You'll just be doing your job."

"Well, l am not here on the job now. And Suoh," he says, grave and sincere, "I am genuinely sorry for your loss."

And here, it's possibly the first time this night she has looked at him properly. "Don't," she warns, because saying it makes it real. His presence here makes it real, like Anna's stony silence and Yata's outrage and the way Izumo's hands hadn't stopped shaking since she got back last night until halfway through the morning make it real. Besides, everything from his posture to attire to tone is strictly business and as formal as fucking possible. There's a laugh bubbling inside her, old and hollow, and at least he can still instigate that. "You could have just called."

He sighs, and it's that same exasperated breath as always. Good, she figures. Her cigarette's burnt to the filter and neither of them have time for this anyway. She crushes it out under her boot, says, "Go home, Munakata. I'll see you when I see you."

x

From her vantage point above the bar, Izumo can see the King's coat whipping in the wind before it disappears out of sight. She gives Mikoto a light when she arrives, knows she's almost out of her own cigarettes, has been going through them more and more aggressively considering neither of them slept through the night.

She wastes no time in asking what Munakata wanted.

"Came to give condolences," Mikoto says, sprawls out on the rooftop and blows smoke into the sky.

It's rare for Izumo to pry or for Mikoto to be this open about political dealings, especially with the Blue King. But then, their world has just been knocked off its axis and they are all still raw and reeling from it. Maybe, thinks Izumo, all things considered, clinging to the usual is a little overrated. It's probably the only reason she even bothers saying what she does:

"Can he help?"

"We don't _need _his help."

Izumo knows that, sooner or later, that's not going to be true. Even if she asks Seri to pull a hefty number of strings on the other side, there is going to be no way in hell SCEPTER4 will let them run a riot trying to track and subsequently burn down a killer.

And then there's the possibility that Izumo doesn't like to think of, that Mikoto has something worse in mind. She'd much rather see it tied up sooner, cleaner, but if her queen wants a war, she'll go to war; there's nothing more to be said of it.


	2. and angels fall without you there

**Notes: **Mikoto; Izumo; mentions of Tatara. Talk of past character death, grief, and some graphic violence. Been seeing a bunch of fancomics floating around the internet with different takes on Mikoto's piercing and wanted to give it a shot as well (and, y'know, try to deal with all my HOMRA founders feelings in the process).

* * *

Mikoto has been toying with the idea for hours now, much like she's been reaching into her pocket for the piece of silver repeatedly, always after a quick jolt of panic that it might have slipped, fallen, that she's lost it, until she can feel the cold curve of it between her fingers. It keeps happening to the point where she's barely conscious of doing it and then catches herself.

She figures this is probably the easier way of going about it when she sets Totsuka's earring on the bar top, next to Izumo's third shot of Belvedere, and asks, "Can you do it?"

There's a moment where Izumo looks surprised that Mikoto has kept it but it comes and goes in a flash. "If you can trust my eye-hand coordination at this hour, sure." And then, thoughtful, "It'd suit you."

Mikoto doubts it. She could never pull off the silly hippie-chic look that Totsuka had her own way of turning into fashionable. She didn't care for that and this wasn't about that. It was a reminder she wanted solid in her skin: everything that was taken from her and everything she is now going to do about it.

Izumo takes her time in getting her things ready and Mikoto might never stop marverling at the extent of her preparedness but her curiousity doesn't extend to whatever else is stocked up back there. There's rubbing alcohol, peroxide, cotton and some needles laid out on the table when she's back. She's pulling bobby pins out of her own hair and tucking Mikoto's away from her face, pinning the strands up and away from her left side.

It's only when she takes off her glasses, starts to prepare the spot on the helix of Mikoto's ear, the same as Totsuka's, that Mikoto catches the redness in and around her eyes. For a moment, there's an impulse there. Mikoto thinks to touch her wrist, curl her fingers around it. There isn't much they haven't been through together and yet, none of it ever prepared them for this. She does nothing, watches Izumo work instead.

The cartilage is tough and the pinprick of pain is sharp at first but softens as the needle pushes through. Mikoto turns it over in her head, wants to feel it wash over her, thinks how it's nothing at all like a bullet in your chest, like bleeding out of your mouth on to cold, cold concrete, can feel her fingernails digging into her palms and—

"Done," says Izumo. She takes the tie from around her wrist and gathers Mikoto's hair to the other side. "Keep it away for a bit and don't sleep on that side."

Mikoto wants to ask who said anything about her sleeping but Izumo definitely looks like she could use some. And it's because Mikoto knows her that she also knows there's not much chance of that happening with Mikoto wandering and smoking and drinking restlessly around the bar like she's been doing up till now.

Mikoto reaches for her wrist after all, squeezes it once. "Thanks," she says. It's dry in her mouth and feels infinitely inadequate.

Izumo gives her a tired smile, lets her fingers catch Mikoto's before waving it off. "S' nothing, Boss."

They both know how much she hates being called that, especially from Izumo and especially when it's just them here and Mikoto's about to grumble about it but Izumo's not done.

"Thought you'd like to know that we tracked down the gun. Well, Kamamoto and Dewa. Supplier's in Shibuya."

"Good," says Mikoto, touches the shell of her ear and ignores the wince on Izumo's face. It's still tender, a small, warm kind of pain. Good, she thinks. She'll more than welcome the physical kind, the quiet burn like a sign that she's still alive, still of some use then.

Izumo touches Mikoto's shoulder before packing up her makeshift kit. "'Least take a nap, yeah? We'll move in the mornin' and they'll all be there."

Izumo will never come out and admit it but, over the years, Mikoto has picked up on how fatigue tends to make her accent thicker. It's the only reason Mikoto follows her away from the bar, a room that's never felt emptier, and towards the stairs.


End file.
